


Roses in Red

by redeaths



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne x Jaime - Freeform, F/M, Post-War, jaime x brienne - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8575759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeaths/pseuds/redeaths
Summary: Winter has come, war is over. Westeros rebuilds and heals. Brienne of Tarth is on her way to her father who is grieving her new controversial marriage. Nightmares of war do not haunt Brienne's dreams, it's the memories of the cruel past. And it is not the red color of blood she fears, but rather the red color of roses.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because Brienne's childhood was traumatizing enough and TWoW still hasn't come out. Oh, and I also like red.

_A Red Rose._ Then, blood.

That’s all he could offer. The voice echoed. Red Ronnet faded. Darkness came. She cried.

She woke up.

Sweat and fear overtook her as she did. Brienne jerked, _why was she so hot?_ She looked over and saw him. _Golden and perfect_ and _asleep,_ she thought.

She had feared her sudden movements would have awaken him, yet he lay still in deep breathes and peaceful snores. He was tired, of course. She was tired, too, she remembered. But now she was all perspiration, regret and a sudden urge to leave her bed. The dream had scared sleep away. It wasn’t the blood; no, blood she knew well, or the darkness; she also knew well. It was the _roses_. Those red, red roses. _Jaime promised never to give me roses_ , Brienne mused. 

She was grateful for it. In truth, she was grateful for him. She rose from her bed quietly as not to disturb for she wanted to take a better look at him. And she did.

He was glorious. Jaime Lannister had been half a god near death and he was still purely one, if not a full one now. His hair was golden. His hand, when worn, was also golden. And if his eyes were emeralds when they looked at her, then his skin must be marble when she touched him. He was perfect. A Knight in a song. A fantasy that swirled in the heads of girls when night fell and their bodies felt warm. A picture in a book. Too handsome, too charming, too…

_His sister…_ a hushed voice in her head spoke. _No, I don’t think of her_ , she told the voice.

In truth, he was only a god to Brienne and a monster to everyone else. She knew this quite well for when the news of her sudden marriage to the Lannister broke, it seemed that the whole continent of Westeros had something to say. The Starks, who had been good to her, were hurt. The Baratheon, to whom her land pledged alliance to, were confused. The Tullys of the Riverlands were horrified and The Tyrells in Highgarden laughed.  

She confessed she was a bit shocked and relieved to see all the outrage go to how unfit Jaime was for Brienne than the other way around. Although, she was sure that most of the laughter from the Tyrells came from the latter.  It was also true that a good few found it hysterical to see the Kingslayer stoop so low and marry, well, her. Especially when his sister… _I don’t think of her_ , she repeated in her thoughts. The most paradoxical reaction had come from her father.  When the word had reached Lord Selwyn of Tarth, various letters were sent her way.

Her father, in his own way, had congratulated her. Firstly, he commended her for settling down and marrying and thus providing Tarth, and him, with an heir. Secondly, he praised her for her choice in a man of such high breed and house, a Connington was a Connington and a Lannister, although maimed and stripped of titles, was still a Lannister. Her father was seemingly proud but the third part of the letter revealed darker thoughts. He wrote extensively to her about the Kingslayer ( _Jaime, his name is Jaime_ , she thought whilst reading); his crimes, reputation, and his consequent dishonor. He asked, no, he pleaded her to pray and try to make him understand _why_. Brienne mused it would take several letters. Then, she vexed those letters and decided to pay a visit to him herself. Well, _themselves_ , it was them, now. And thus the trip was decided.

Jaime, naturally, was excited. She was terrified. He jested her about it, saying how he longed to meet his “father”. Brienne squirmed in response. The idea of Jaime calling Lord Selywn “father” when she herself referred to him in a formal way horrified her.  

Her father would definitely not be too keen on the idea either. He was wary of Jaime as the letter suggested and that letter haunted her.

_“But Brienne, a man who kills his king, lets his own brother kill his kin and get away with it, a man with no honor, a man who violates his own sister…”_

_Sister-fucking, Kingslayer_ , Hyle had said.

_His sister…_ the voice in her head said once more.

“I don’t think of her,” she said this time out loud. But it was only a whisper and she was relieved to see Jaime only stir a little.

_Maybe he does_ , the voice responded.

Brienne’s lips quivered and she had to leave the room for just the sight of him sickened her at that moment.

~

She walked slowly through the stony corridors. The breeze of the sea was cold and harsh. The sky was dark with no stars. The Stormlands were really their namesake tonight and she found her feelings reflected in them.

The moment she had stepped outside she had felt angry with herself. How dare she judge him when all the world did and how dare she leave him on such a whim? _I would never leave him_ , she admitted, _I could never leave him. I love-_

She had never said it out loud, only in her thoughts.

It was a strange thing that a married couple would not pronounce their love openly to each other. But then, again her and Jaime were never much for words. Jaime never said, he simply did. He kissed her, took her, made love to her, caressed her, nuzzled her, sparred with her, and jested her. _Wench_ , he said. But the word love was never said.

_Did he tell Cersei he loved her?,_ the voice which now sounded like Septa Roelle inquired.

The mere thought of it saddened Brienne. She supposed she should be grateful for what little love from him she had. It was good enough to feel loved, she supposed, and by such a man as him? Well, most maidens would weep for joy. But she was no longer a maiden…

Such a thought made her crimson and painted a smile on her plain face. _“Still a maiden, I hope?,”_ he had breathed in her ear so softly that Brienne still felt hot at the thought. And when the warm trickle of blood had left her thigh and flowered on the bed, Jaime’s hand went into her, she gasped and the last thing she recalled was his hand all red.

_Red like roses_ , her thoughts whispered.

No, _golden_ roses, roses like the ones of Loras Tyrell’s shield. _Renly._

Renly Baratheon in his Stormlands with his stag crown. Beautiful and kind and good. He lived in a castle not much like this, with stony walls and wary seas. And he asked her to dance.

_I wanted to die for him_ , she remembered. And she remembered other things, too: Biter on her cheek, Pod in the noose, a bear at Harrenhal… but that dance.

She could hardly remember that dance now. It was only in pieces; she wore a blue dress, Renly in yellow, and the music filling the hall. What was it? A ballad or maybe a song about a maiden. It was a pretty song and she herself _felt_ pretty, she recalled. Yes, she did because he looked at her and he smiled upon her. And for a split second, she caught herself looking upon his lips. She wanted to kiss him and blushed instantly at the mere thought of it. For the rest of the dance, she turned her gaze to her feet which only made Renly laugh and jest about her being so shy. She giggled at the remark and had to look up again. A splash of those blue eyes and there it happened; she was in love.

She never felt pretty or danced again.

Brienne sighed as she rested her head on her arms. The balcony window overlooked the ocean, but its view was obscured. The little light from the moon made its waves look like dark, blue shadows. _Shadows that killed Renly_ , she thought. Renly, the boy who never loved her and the king she never died for. She had come to notice that all the people she loved either never loved her or died.  Her mother died and she hardly remembered her, yet all the same Brienne knew she had loved her. She, then, mused Tarth was just across the sea. Her father was just across the sea. In the next days, she could be home. In the next days, she would be… _Jaime, I have to go back to Jaime_ , she said in her head.

She was not one for formalities yet a little voice which she recognized was that of Septa Roelle remained in her head. She reminded her how improper it was to be away from your bed and your husband in the thick of night in an unknown place. Septa Roelle might have said that, in such case, a lady without her husband could be raped, but all Brienne ever needed was a sword to feel safe. _Jaime feels the same way_ , she sighed. Septa Roelle might have also argued that a lady could be suspected of adultery for a lady walking in the middle of the night from corridor to corridor was surely a wanton walking to the arms of her lover. Brienne chuckled at the thought for she was surely not walking to the arms of a lover that was not Ser Jaime Lanniser. Not even a dead one such as Renly.

The thought amused her so that she kept thinking about how much she could not be without Jaime’s arms the first weeks. She could simply not leave her room, he forbid her. And she didn’t want to. His kisses were soft blows and his caresses made blood rush through her body. The first time he took her, he warned her that she wouldn’t know how she had _lived_ all these years without him inside her. She remembered the remark had annoyed her at first but it was all forgotten once he was in. How she had lived without him, she couldn’t recall.

Brienne wasn’t comfortable for the first few times. Her body made her feel wary and stupid. Her large hands on his chest. His lips upon her freckled bits. Her straw-like hair tangled in his left hand. She felt awkward every time they touched and she noted he felt the same. He would find himself doing things with an absent right hand and regretting it every time he did. His eagerness and frustration made her both smile and blush. The first time it was strange. The second time it was absurd. The third time it was wonderful.

Her favorite part, if she could pick one, was when he asked her to look at him. Every time he asked the same thing and every time she felt too shy to ask why. When she did, he merely said he liked her eyes. That made her red and he teased her about the fact he hadn’t even touched her yet.

All those thoughts rushed to Brienne as she hurried back to her husband. Perhaps he would be awake and perhaps they would make love. She could never wake him up for just that, she felt too awkward to do such a thing.

_Cersei would_ , the voice, which had tinges of Septa Roelle, whispered. _Cersei could._

The thought stopped Brienne in her tracks, then she simply sighed the saddest sigh she could muster. Why did she bother?

“Three months into your marriage and already so miserable?” a voice that was not in her head inquired from behind.

She turned around to have Hyle Hunt’s eyes meet hers. “Do tell what makes my lady Lannister so miserable?”

Brienne grew flustered.

“Nothing,” she spit back as she pushed back her thoughts.

“I was thinking of my Lord father and I grew sad,” she stated.

“So late at night?” Hyle said with a smirk. “I find you dedicated to think of your father so late at night.”

“He is but days away,” Brienne said.

“I suppose that can make one stay up and think of them,” Hyle mused.

“Why are you here?” Brienne inquired.

“I like to take night strolls. It clears the mind,” he said simply, “I’d reckon you agree, my lady?”

“Yes,” she said formally.

At that moment, she regretted having brought Hyle Hunt along. She had brought along Poderick Payne but that was different. Hyle was _different_. She did not particularly like him and Jaime loathed him. But Jaime’s reasons were unclear, hers were based on facts and bets on maidenheads.

When she had met up again with Hyle Hunt at the gates of Maidenpool, she had nothing but contempt and distaste for the man. His insistence on accompanying her on her quest were maddening and his marriage proposal attempts were insulting. She did not trust him and his intentions, yet he provided to be a valuable companion throughout the Lady Stoneheart ordeal. He had a part in saving both Poderick and her life, and now she found herself eager to compensate him. It was at this time that Hyle proposed yet again. And yet again, Brienne dismissed him and offered money instead. To her surprise, he had initially refused and only listened when she mentioned her father and Tarth. Hyle was no fool and agreed that presenting himself in court to a lord as someone who saved his daughter was a handsome prize.

Jaime had vehemently disagreed with the decision and had offered to pay Hunt himself. Brienne denied the offer for she felt responsible for both Hyle and Pod. It was her that Stoneheart had wanted and she had hanged them two instead. Their crimes had merely been of being allies to Brienne. She could not forget Pod’s face as his legs kicked or Hyle’s pink scars on his neck. It was her fault and the honorable thing was to repay them as she could, as Tarth could. She was stubborn enough that Jaime finally gave up and told her to do as she bid. 

“You should go to bed,” Hyle said suddenly interrupting her thoughts. “I’m sure my lord Lannister misses his Lady Lannister.”

_His lady Lannister…_ Septa Roelle’s voice purred.

“Do not call me that,” Brienne stammered, “I am Brienne of Tarth. I shall always be of Tarth.”

“That I believe,” Hyle said, “but still I’m sure my lord misses his lady. His bed must be cold by now…”

“Do not speak of my marriage bed,” she grimaced.

“Forgive me, m’lady, I only said that in good nature and as a thoughtful advice,” Hyle reassured.

“What advice could _you_ give me?”

“Oh, just careful advice that my mother would say. What would she say? Oh, yes, ‘wives should not leave their beds for too long unless they want to find a whore in the arms of their love.’”

“That sounds ridiculous,” Brienne muttered.

“It’s only a wife’s song or tale, my mother often spoke many odd things. You shouldn’t be afraid,” he said.

“I’m not afraid,” she responded.

“Why should you be? Your lord husband loves you,” he said with a laugh.

Blood flushed to Brienne’s freckled face.

“You mock me, Ser?”

Hyle looked at her and he laughed again.

“You’ve mistaken my laugh, I’m afraid. M’lady, forgive me.”

“You mock me,” she said.

Hyle shook his head and grew stern.

“No, I meant what I said. How couldn’t he? You’re very sweet.”

Brienne, in anger, glanced at his face and realized he meant what he said. He always had an honest face. And she remembered that had been her first thought of him.

Hyle Hunt had an honest face. He was not handsome nor gallant like Renly. But he always laughed and she remembered liking his eyes. There was a scar upon one cheek and a smirk upon his face. She had many suitors in the camp but Hyle was different. _He tried the hardest_ , Brienne thought bitterly. No, it wasn’t quite that. Hyle was different and honest and eager. He told her jokes, things he had heard or that his mother once said. He made her smile and laugh; on one occasion she spat out her wine. He brought her fresh carrots and ripe apples for her pony; on every occasion he took an apple. She remembered that once he had brought her a bag of apples and asked her to have one for herself. Brienne shook her head and stammered she already ate. Hyle said it was a pity and bit into one. He offered her a bite and she blushed and declined. He chuckled as the juice of the apple dripped on his lips. She noticed it and chastised her thought. He glanced at her and somehow smiled. He said she was very sweet. She was as red as the apples when he left.  

She never stopped loving Renly, but she always liked Hyle.

Now did not like Hyle, she respected and tolerated him as she could. But she felt that deep, down in a very dark place that she could never like Hyle like she did back then.

“You mock me, Ser,” she repeated in a sad tone.

“You always think I’m mocking you,” Hyle sighed.

_That’s what Jaime says_ , Brienne thought. _I always think he’s mocking me._

He would compliment the blue of her eyes and she would shake her head. He would tell her he liked her freckles and she would cringe. He would remove the hair from her face as he thrusted inside of her and she would want nothing more but to hide and wish him away. She did not like him touching her scarred cheek and she would close her eyes when he did. One night, in frustration, Jaime kissed her cheek and demanded she look at him. She did and he said she should never close her eyes for him. He kissed her scarred flesh again and this time she did not blink.

_I love him so much_ , she confessed. _I love him. I love him. I love him. If I did not know him, I would love him. And if he did not exist, I would love him._

Brienne sighed and leaned on the balcony window near them.

“Why is m’lady so sad?” Hyle inquired as he did the same.

“I’m not sad,” she argued.

“Your face says something different,” he jested.

“My face says many things,” Brienne said touching her scarred cheek.

Hyle noticed this and shook his head.

“Do you regret your marriage?”

“Of course not,” Brienne declared, “I’m very happy.”

“I do not talk about happiness, I talk about regret. Ever think of what could have been? Who you could have bedded, who you could have kissed…If I got married, I would think of this. All the women I didn’t share a bed with. All the girls I didn’t kiss.”

“I never had anyone to kiss. Or bed…” Brienne said simply.

“Still, you have loved before him, have you not? Do you think of the men you loved and how it could have been?” Hyle questioned.

Brienne thought. _Renly. I would have liked to kiss Renly._

And that servant boy at Tarth, he was kind and had blue eyes. The knight that was betrothed to her cousin, who fought like a beast but smiled like the sun. Yes, she would have liked to kiss him. And maybe Red Ronnet before he spoke. If he never spoke, Brienne would have liked to kiss him. And Hyle, she would have kissed Hyle when he ate that apple.

“Ever wondered what would have happened if you had married me?” Hyle whispered.

“I would have been miserable,” she replied, hiding a blush that had been provoked by her thoughts.

“No, you would have been just fine. I could have made you happy or just as happy as him,” he grinned.

He then added, “I have two hands.”

Brienne’s face grew dark.

“I jest, my lady Lannister!” Hyle exclaimed.

“Do not call me that!” Brienne remarked.

“Alright, forgive me, that was a low blow on my part. I guess I’m a bit jealous of your happiness.”

She said nothing and rested her head on her arms.

Hyle came closer.

“I guess it’s true when they say you only miss things when they are gone…” he pondered.

Brienne said nothing and looked out the window. The sky was less dark now, maybe morrow was close…

“I regret that bet, you know?”

She did not look at him.

“I know.”

“Do you really know?” he asked

“You have apologized before and I’ve accepted. I know.”

Hyle came even closer to her, his arms almost touching hers.

“Do you _know_?”

Brienne looked into his hazel eyes, confused.

“What is there to know?”

Before Hyle could speak, a voice behind them interrupted.

“ _Brienne_.”

They both turned around to see Jaime. His bed clothes were ragged, his coat put outside in, and he held a weary expression that only melted away when his gaze met Brienne’s.

She wondered whether a bad dream was the cause of such a state.

“Brienne,” he repeated in a cool demeanor. “It is late, my sweetling, won’t you come to bed?”

She blushed at his sudden demand and her blush only heightened when he gestured her arm towards her. Without hesitance, she walked towards him and only stopped once her skin was touching his coat. Once she was there with him, he turned to Hyle.

“Ser Hyle, I do appreciate keeping my lady company on such late notice,” Jaime said with a polite smile.

“Oh, it was my pleasure. We drifted into each other, we always happen to,” Hyle said with a nod.

“It was a night stroll and I ran into Ser Hyle who also could not sleep. We talked,” Brienne interjected.

“Such a good man, he is! I cannot wait to get to Tarth and have him well compensated and out on his way.”

“Oh, I will never stray too far from my lady of Tarth. I shouldn’t want to break her heart, she treasures my friendship so.”

“Very well. But I don’t see how you should break any part of her unless you were in battle. Oh, but she did break a part of you once. What was it? Bitterbridge?”

“That she did. She is a good, I’ve told her myself.”

“Have you? So have I. All the time.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.”

“I gave her a sword.”

“Yes, you did. And she’s very good with it. I noticed it quite a lot when I accompanied her on her quest. That one you sent her on but were too preoccupied to attend. I fought with her and for her.”

“Well, I could remind you, Ser Hyle, I was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and my place was with my then king.”

“And your queen.”

“Yes, so it seems…”

“Ser Jaime,” Brienne interrupted, “I am tired and Ser Hyle must be tired, it would be better if we all went to bed.”

“Yes, Ser Jaime, I agree with your wife. I am exhausted and tomorrow a voyage awaits. Lady Brienne, you are always a pleasure. And so are you, my lord. I hope, however, that you not take this situation in the wrong way and understand the true nature of mine and Brienne’s relationship.”

“And what would be that nature be?” Jaime inquired.

“That of a brother and sister.”

“Oh, Ser Hyle, you are too kind, indeed! Good night, then,” Jaime grunted as he began to lead Brienne back to their quarters.

“Good night, Lady Brienne.” Hyle repeated.

Brienne caught a smirk on his face.

“Good night, Ser Hyle,” she said.

As they walked away, she pondered once again on how she used to like his eyes and how he had an honest face. She tolerated him now. Maybe, one day she could like him again. _Maybe, one day we could even be friends_ , Brienne thought.

~

The walk back to the room was a quiet one on her behalf. This was not a strange arrangement, Jaime liked to talk quite a lot and she liked to listen to him. He was particularly riled up and spoke only about Hyle. He complained about his impertinence and arrogance. Jaime argued that Brienne would do good by staying well away from him after he was compensated. She answered that he misjudged Ser Hyle and that while not entirely good, he was not without virtues. This remark made Jaime drop a queer comment on how she surely must have dug deeply to find his virtues. He followed this by asking whether she was went out looking for Hyle’s virtue late at night in the first place and whether she had found it. Brienne did not understand the question and answered that he had found her in the corridor. She asked if that’s what he meant. Jaime only shrugged and said he hated Hyle. He, then, took her by the arm.

~

Brienne went to her bed by habit as they got to their quarters. She guessed she was tired but she wasn’t entirely sure. Jaime joined her quickly and crawled closer to her. Once he was near, he kissed her. And he kissed her again. And again. She felt less confused with every kiss. He asked her if she would rather be out there talking to Hunt or here taking him. She did not understand the comparison and only moaned into his mouth. She wanted him badly, but he took it slow. He kissed her neck, her shoulders and then moved to her chest. She loosened her bed clothes and thought how she wanted him inside her…

_“He was inside his sister,”_ the Septa Roelle voice whispered, _“and he spilled his seed three times.”_

_It doesn’t matter_ , Brienne thought. _It doesn’t matter. We’re married._

Jaime opened her clothes to expose her bare chest.

_“His lady Lannister,”_ Hyle’s voice teased.

Jaime kissed her freckled neck.

_“A red rose is all you’ll ever get…”_ Red Ronnet purred.

Jaime nuzzled her collarbone.

_“In the dark you’d be as beautiful in any other woman.”_

Jaime’s hand slithered through her stomach.

_“The hand that pleasured his sister…”_

Jaime’s mouth went to her breast.

_“Brienne the beauty.”_

Jaime’s breathe tickled her skin.

_“Sister-fucking, king—_

_“Stop,”_ Brienne whispered.

_“Cersei would. Cersei could.”_

“Stop it, Jaime,” she said suddenly.

Jaime’s removed himself from her and looked up. His eyes did not understand.

“I’m tired. I want to sleep,” she said plainly as she took her hand off her. She then turned her back to him, covered herself and tried to sleep.

The first few seconds were silent. He did not say anything. She had never refused him and he had never refused her.

He, then, said a jest about how being close to home made her shy.

She said nothing.

He, then, got closer to her and rested her forehead upon her shoulder.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Brienne replied.

“What did I do?” he asked again.

There was something in his voice that she did not like. He sounded hurt. She had never caused him any hurt and did not understand.

“Nothing, Jaime, I swear. I am tired.”

“What did Hyle say?” he exclaimed.

“What do you mean?”

“You talked him for quite a while and now you are all _restrained_ with me. I know you well, wench, tell me, did he speak of ill me? Or do you like him? Do you like him? Do you fancy him?”

“What?”

“I bet you do fancy him, wench. It’s the hair isn’t it? You like his dark hair and his light eyes. I bet you he reminds you of Renly. Have you pleasured yourself to the thought of him lately?”

“No, Jaime, I don’t—”

“Oh, but I bet you found his virtues alright. You and him by the sea… He’s handsome enough to make the Hound look like Rhaegar Targaryen but if that’s what you like in a man then by all means, wench. And he likes you, I’m sure. It would not be your money, no, your love is pure and noble. Forgive me for sullying it for my own thoughts. Oh, Gods, wench, you must go now and confess your love.”

“Jaime...you’re mad.”

“No, you’re mad about him! It’s obvious that’s why you insisted to keep him. So you wanted to keep staring at him longingly and for him to keep sending you sly smiles every time you sparred. Do you like the way he thrusts his sword? Does it excite you, wench?”

“No! Jaime—“

“He probably wonders what he could do with both hands. Maybe one to pleasure you and one to grab his cock as he does.  Maybe you dream about sparring with him and him taking you from behind…”

“Jaime, stop.”

“Yes, of course, but you would not tell him to stop. No, you love him. Tell me, wench, were you two planning to fuck? Is that what you were talking about?”

“No. I could never—“

“Fuck him? Love him? Why? Are you too honorable for either?”

“How could I? I only love you,” she finally said.

And he went quiet and she went red. She felt her heart at her throat and she could not stop the words from coming out.

“I think of Renly, but only as a boy who asked me to dance. The first boy who was kind to me. And I’m not in love with Ser Hyle. I don’t like him either. I used to, back in Renly’s camp... I wanted to kiss him once. But I can’t forget… I mean I forgive him and he feels sorry but… I tolerate him now. Maybe one day I could be friends with him, again, but not right now. I left because I had dream… the dream I always have with the rose. Ser Ronnet gives me a rose and he says… you know what he says. And I—“

She started to cry.

“I got upset and sad and then I thought of your sister. Don’t ask me why but I did. And then all these thoughts came to me. And I had to leave, I’m sorry, Jaime but I couldn’t wake you.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“And I found Ser Hyle and he spoke to me of the past and I thought on how much has hurt… And then you came and I went back here with you. And you kissed me and I kissed you and I only thought of your sister. And I couldn’t… I didn’t want to think anymore and I told you stop. Bu…but it’s not because I love someone else, I only love you and I’ve realized it’s fine if you don’t feel the sa—“

“You stupid wench,” Jaime breathed.

Brienne’s glossy eyes looked upon his eyes. They were full of sadness and other things she could not comprehend. So she turned her gaze away but then he spoke.

“Look at me.”

She could not. She did want to. She did not want to hear. She knew what he would tell her. It would be what Septa Roelle always told her. Septa Roelle told her that her reflection would always tell her the truth. She would always be ugly and unloved and stupid and unwanted…

_But I have a sword._

Why should she be afraid? Why should she tremble right now? Why should she listen to a ghost? She couldn’t anymore. She had been brave all her life because she had no choice. She could have stayed home in Tarth and not gone anywhere. She could have stayed a beast in a castle, a sow in silk, a mockery of a lady, an unwanted thing, but she didn’t. She didn’t stay, she left and she found the sword. The sword she always wanted. A sword that made her feel safe. A sword that made her feel brave.

_He gave me a sword…_

She turned and faced him, unafraid. It was a battle she would lose. He had her heart and she had no pride. She had no chance of winning. No chance, but no choice.

“Look at me and listen to what I tell you. I. Love. You. There’s nothing you could say to stop me from loving you and there’s nothing that could stop me from loving you. I will love you until I die and after I die. And this will always be and no one, not even Ser Hyle, can change it. Renly is dead. My sister is dead. And we could die at sea tomorrow for all I know. So tonight, let’s do us a favor and live and fuck.”

Brienne could not muster anything but a nod.

In the back of her mind, she could hear Septa Roelle’s voice purring but she ignored it. The woman was dead and gone. Brienne was no longer a child but a woman who did not need to hear her. She could hear own voice. She could hear her husband. Her husband…

A sudden boldness took her. “Kiss me,” she demanded.

And so he did.

 


End file.
